I Live on the Second Floor
by shoreside
Summary: House & young girl. Is he capable of forming a friendship?
1. Stumbling

Title: I live on the second floor

Author: mitfordgal

Fandom: House

Rating: M for Mature due to language and disturbing situations

Category: Drama/Angst

Relationships: House/other friendship (for now)

Spoilers: Up to season three by the end

Disclaimer: I do not own House or any of the wonderful characters from the mind of David Shore and co. I do, however, take credit for Hilary, Myra, Derek, cops etc. Please do not sue.

A/N: I've manipulated House's environment a bit to make this story work. In my little world, he lives in a triplex and has one of the first floor apartments. I realize that in season 1 we saw Cameron come into his apartment and there were trees on the other side. I am ignoring that.

A/N 2: I am desperate for a beta or betas. I don't only write House – I write The West Wing, Higher Ground and MASH for now – maybe the X-files later. If you are interested, please email me at I need not only spelling/grammar help but also a kick in the butt to get through my writer's block.

"_No man is an island." John Donne._

I LIVE ON THE SECOND FLOOR

The first time he saw her, she was sitting outside his apartment building, shivering in the cold and waiting. At least he assumed she was waiting because when she didn't have her head buried in her knees shivering, she was looking up the street as though expecting someone. There were rules about letting people into the building that didn't belong there. House had received a notice about it just that morning slipped under his door by the superintendent. He didn't recognize this girl but anyone 4 feet 10 inches tall with a skinny build and masses of unruly dirty blond hair couldn't be a danger to anyone, he decided. He held the door open just a few seconds longer than he usually would and heard the rustle of a body slipping through behind him. She might have muttered thanks as she went to the stairs – he couldn't quite hear.

The next night she was back, but House found her inside, not outside. She was sitting in front of his door, reading. House tilted his head and was a bit startled to see the cover of Judith Guest's "Ordinary People."

"A bit advanced for a second grader, isn't it?" He asked, sardonically, stepping over her to get his key in the lock. She gave him a scornful glance.

"I'm 9 years old and in fifth grade, thank you very much." She scrambled to her feet and followed him inside. "I'll be 10 in January. My grandmother named me Hilary because the Republicans took over both the House and the Senate on my birthday so she was a bit depressed. It only has one "l" because she couldn't spell very well. I suppose I was lucky not to be called Wilhelmina or Chelsea." She made a face.

House tossed his knapsack on the couch and flopped beside it. He hoped that he had remembered to tape General Hospital. A lack of attention did not deter his uninvited guest at all.

"Wow, you have a piano! It's gorgeous. Why do you have one?"

"The space was too big for an easy chair," he answered absentmindedly. Damn. He had forgotten. Curses on Cameron for getting him involved in a case that took him away from the television in the lobby during his soap opera. He flicked off the TV and woke up to the fact that Hilary was sitting on the piano bench, a hand reaching out to touch the keys.

"Hey, back away from there!" he ordered protectively. His tone did not seem to upset Hilary at all. She spun around to face him.

"You must be the guy that helped us get our apartment cheap. The superintendent gave us the apartment for a discount as long as we didn't complain that you were a bastard or played your piano in the middle of the night."

"Sounds like me," he agreed. Before he could figure out a way to get her to leave, she piped up,

"He said you were a doctor. You don't look like a doctor."

"I play bass in a heavy metal band after work. This is the outfit we have to wear." He shook his cane at her. "Unless you are narrow-minded enough to believe that someone who's disabled can't do anything except lie around watching TV and collecting benefits."

Hilary continued to study him in a way that made him uncomfortable. "It doesn't have anything to do with your cane. I just thought that people who became doctors did it to help people, at least on some level." Suddenly her face brightened. "Unless you are one of those doctors who are so arrogant about their abilities that they assume the world should treat them like gold. Is that why you're a bastard?"

"First of all," said House firmly, getting up. "I don't think little girls should be using words like 'bastard' to describe anything. Secondly, I use a cane because my leg hurts. When I'm in pain, I'm cranky. Thirdly, you need to go upstairs to your own apartment and annoy the people who decided to bring you into the world."

Hilary didn't budge. "I would do that but I can't get into my apartment and the super isn't answering his door. My mom's out working and won't be home until late. I forgot my key."

House sighed heavily and pulled out his cell phone. "Foreman? Have you got the kid off the roof yet? Great. Leave him in Cameron and Chase's capable hands and get over here. Yes, my apartment." In a sarcastic tone, "I've fallen and I can't get up. Just get over here and bring your 'break-and-entry' kit with you." He snapped the phone closed in annoyance.

"How many doctors does it take to keep a teenage boy in his bed?" he muttered. He wandered into the kitchen, popped 2 Vicodin and got himself a drink. Without thinking, he poured a glass of water for Hilary.

"So you have doctors working for you?" asked Hilary cheerfully, accepting the glass of water.

"Yeah, three of them."

"And one of them can get into locked apartments?"

"That's why I hired him. Oh, and because he's black. I'm all about affirmative action."

"So that's Foreman," Hilary mused. "What about the other two?"

"I hired Chase first because his dad was famous in Australia and I was curious to know why he wanted to work in the US, far, far away from Daddy and his influence. I hired Cameron because she was pretty, naïve and sincere."

Hilary nodded. "When you're a bastard, you need someone nice to follow behind you and pick up the pieces."

House sighed. "I wish you would stop using that word."

Hilary cocked her head inquisitively. "You don't seem like the type to be concerned about what comes out of kids' mouths. Is it that you don't like to think of yourself as a bastard?"

"Look, I've had a long day and it's longer because of you so can we please just sit in silence and wait for Foreman?" He stretched out his legs and propped them on the coffee table, wincing slightly as he did so. Hilary watched him with a slight smile on her face. Finally, something interesting.


	2. The Deal

**Chapter Two – The Deal**

**Disclaimer still applies.**

**Still looking for a beta or more than one… I didn't think it would be this hard! I can take criticism really well… honest!**

'God, could Foreman be any slower?' griped House with his eyes closed. He could sense Hilary's eyes scanning his living room. He was sure that if he accidentally fell asleep, she would be rifling through his underwear drawer. Distraction. He needed to distract her.

"So tell me about yourself," he said, not opening his eyes.

Hilary launched right in. "I grew up in small town New Jersey with my grandparents because my mom is an alcoholic and a drug addict and she wouldn't know a good career move if one hit her on the head. They, my grandparents, died within three months of each other when I was 8 and that happened to coincide with my mom being out of jail so she got custody. We've been moving around ever since. I have an IQ of 172 but my grandparents were afraid that I would suffer socially so they only let me enter kindergarten a year early and wouldn't let me skip any grades. I read a lot to keep myself from utter boredom. Hey, do you have any good books?"

House opened one eye and glared at her before she could jump off the piano bench towards his bookshelf. "If you're very good one day, I'll let you look at the naked pictures of men in my medical books."

Hilary made a face. "No thanks. I prefer fiction and history."

"Give it a few years. So do you have any useful skills?"

"My grandmother taught me how to cook, clean, bake, knit, play Scrabble, and balance a checkbook by the time I was 6," Hilary announced proudly. "Then my grandfather taught me how to unclog a toilet, change the oil and tires on a car, replace the air filter and mow the grass. They wanted me to be prepared."

"For what?" House couldn't help it. As tired as he was, she was growing on him.

"Looking after Myra." At his questioning look she explained, "My mother. She's wonderful at many things but the practical daily chores are beyond her sometimes."

House opened his mouth to ask another question but there was a knock at the door. Before he could react, Hilary had bounced up and answered it.

"Hi!" She chirped to a confused Foreman. "You must be Dr. Foreman, the guy who's going to break into my apartment. Right this way. Leave Dr. House – I think his leg is hurting him. Bye, thanks for everything."

Foreman and House were left staring at each other.

"She's… cute," Foreman said, finally.

"When you're breaking in, don't let her watch," House warned. "She picks things up too quickly."

The next night when House arrived home, there was Hilary sitting outside his door. This time she was reading "Death of a Salesman".

"Get locked out of your apartment again?"

"Nope." She reached under her T-shirt and showed him the key hanging around her neck on a string. "I'll never take it off."

"So why are you here bothering me again?" He inquired, flopping on the couch and turning on the TV. Hilary took that as permission to come in and sprawl on the floor in front of him.

"I wondered if maybe we could work out a deal." She stopped, transfixed by what was one the TV. "You watch General Hospital? My grandmother always watched it. It was the only soap she never missed. She once was a die-hard Days of Our Lives fan but then they did something crazy with this character, Roman. They had two actors playing him and some elaborate plot to keep them both and Grandma gave up in disgust. But she loved General Hospital til she died even though she warned me to stay away from the mob no matter how cute they are." She whispered, "I think she was secretly pulling for Carly and Sonny."

"Me too," House admitted. Then, embarrassed, he asked, "What did you watch with your grandfather? Or was he a soap opera addict too?"

Hilary laughed. "No, Grandpa mocked us. He liked the news, the weather channel and MASH reruns. Because of him I had my first crush on Hawkeye Pierce. Imagine my profound disappointment when I realized how much older he was and that he was happily married. Grandpa used to like The West Wing too because watching Martin Sheen was soothing after we elected George W. Bush." She sighed, a bit sadly.

"And what was your secret obsession?" House couldn't believe that he was talking to someone while his soap was playing. True he had TIVO and could watch it again later but he was fascinated by this pint-sized girl with the advanced vocabulary.

"I loved MASH and The West Wing too but I also used to stay up late and watch reruns of The X-files after they were asleep." Hilary turned around, blushing. "Do you think that's stupid?"

"Stupid? No. Unusual for a girl your age? Very much so."

Hilary looked wistful. "Maybe, but I loved it. I can't even tell you why. Myra sold the TV one night when she didn't have enough money for…" she trailed off.

"Money for what?"

"Oh, stuff she needed," she answered evasively. Quickly she went back to the original thread of the conversation. "Can we maybe negotiate a deal?"

"What kind of deal?"

Now Hilary was looking longingly at the piano. "I was hoping that there might be something you needed to get done; like cleaning or grocery shopping or something. And in exchange you could teach me how to play the piano."

House was startled. He hadn't seen that one coming at all. He had assumed that she was looking for a source of income because judging by the state of her clothing, money didn't seem to be in abundance.

"I've never taught someone how to play the piano before…" he hesitated.

Hilary was quick to reassure. "I'm a really fast learner. Sometimes, when I'm alone upstairs, and I hear you play the piano… well, it makes me feel better. Music is very soothing and they cut the program at my pathetic excuse for a public school.

House tried one more time to dissuade her. "I get really nasty when people make mistakes. And cleaning my bathroom has made grown women cry."

Hilary shrugged. "You obviously haven't met my mother. She's never been able to find cleaning supplies in any grocery store. And you can yell all you want about my piano skills. My teachers all secretly think I need to be taken down a peg or two. Besides, maybe I'll get mad and yell back."

"Why the piano?"

"That's a good question," Hilary mused. "There could be several reasons. One, I really like you and this is a way to make sure that I'll see you on a regular basis. Or I have a fetish for piano music and figure that this is a good way to manipulate you into playing more. But people are so complicated, aren't they? I suppose if I told you that I really want to be able to play hymns for Mrs. Ryan, you'd dismiss that because you wouldn't be able to figure out the selfish angle."

"Who is Mrs. Ryan?"

Hilary gave him an incredulous look. "Elderly lady? Walks with a white cane due to blindness? Been living here so long that she's forgotten when she moved in? I clean and shop for her on Saturdays and read for her Monday evenings. She loves to sing old hymns and I want to be able to play them for her. She has an electric keyboard but can't play it." Hilary laughed at the disgusted look on House's face. "Not everyone is as rich as you are and can afford a baby grand. And it wouldn't be practical for me to drag it up and down the stairs twice a week."

"Ok, you have yourself a deal." He hobbled over to his key hook beside the door and gave her a key. "You can work out your own schedule for cleaning and shopping – there'll be money and a list left every Tuesday but buy what you want. Our lessons will take place just before my poker game but you can come and practice whenever I'm not sleeping or entertaining guests. And I insist on paying you $10.00 an hour on top of the lessons because once you find out what a bastard I really am, you might be tempted to leave. The rules: no doing my laundry, snooping or coming into the apartment when the stethoscope is on the doorknob. Trust me, you won't like what you find. And if you find medication lying around, you're not to swallow it, sell it or throw it out. Deal?" He held out his right hand. Hilary grasped it.

"Deal."

"Now get out and let me watch my soap in peace."


End file.
